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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24490828">The Butler's Table</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw'>njw</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Invasion, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Bakers, Chefs, Cutlery as Weapons, Humor, Jason is Deeply Unimpressed, JayTim Week 2020, JayTimWeek, M/M, Misunderstandings, Tim Gets a Job, the giant penny, vigilantes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:40:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,944</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24490828</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim sighs, turning back to the Sisyphean task of trying to keep up with all the dishes a restaurant as popular as this one apparently generates in one night. He’s starting to maybe see why this position was available despite the competition to work at such an elite location. </p><p>Some of the giddy excitement with which he began his shift fades as he realizes the drudgery of the job he’s been given. It doesn’t help that he keeps remembering the contemptuous look on Jason’s face, along with Damian’s harsh words and Bruce’s apparent indifference. </p><p><i>Well, that probably could have gone better. Then again, what did I expect? Of course it’s not easy to get close to Batman and his partners—even in their civilian roles. Maybe I can still win them over. </i><br/>*<br/>For the <a href="https://jaytimweek.tumblr.com/post/611451560109785088/thank-you-friends-for-participating-in-voting">tumblr Jaytim Week 2020</a> day one College AU | Chef/Baker AU prompt.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Drake/Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1356295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>203</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>548</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>JayTimWeek</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Tremendous thank you to Fictionsuit, Salazarastark, and Strawberryjei for the excellent beta!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Honestly, darling, I can’t quite bring myself to believe that you seriously intend to follow through with this foolishness. How can you possibly even consider throwing your future away on this- this—” Tim winces as his mother’s beautiful, aristocratic face twists with distaste and she breaks off, apparently unable to find words to describe how appalling she considers his plans for what to do with his life. She leans back in her seat, eyeing the many elite college brochures which are spread out on the dining room table.</p><p>Tim winces. This is a conversation he’s been expecting for a while, but that doesn’t make it any easier now that it’s finally here. He should probably be grateful she hasn’t resorted to theatrical gestures yet. Or mentioned the fifty hours of labor she endured bringing him into the world.</p><p>“It’s just culinary school,” he mutters mutinously. “It’s not like I’m going to prison, getting a job with a competitor, or joining a cult.”</p><p>Although he definitely threatened to do all of those things at some point over the course of this seemingly endless discussion. He’s pretty sure his parents found his other threat more credible—to very publicly open his own food truck on the Gotham docks if they continue in their attempts to control his choices and force him to conform to their own plans for his life.</p><p>His mom definitely hadn’t been very happy about that, especially when he enthused for five minutes about all the different ways he’d publicize his new food truck. When he told her he planned to call it ‘Drake’s Street Eats,’ she’d actually flinched in horror at the thought of their family name being connected to anything so uncouth. </p><p>“You might as well be in prison for all this ridiculous career choice will bring you!” She flings her hands up, appalled. Somehow, she manages to make the gesture appear elegant. “It would have roughly the same effect on your social standing.”</p><p>Jack Drake coughs, hiding his amusement at his wife’s theatrics. “Now, dear, Tim couldn’t possibly cause as much of a scandal by becoming a chef as he might if he joined a commune and went to jail after a highly publicized trial for—” he pauses, dark brows drawing together in a puzzled frown. “Wait, what do cultists actually do?”</p><p>Janet rolls her eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, scads of things, darling. Mass suicides, plural or underage marriages, ecoterrorism, stockpiling weaponry, attempting to precipitate doomsday, occasionally serving as cannon fodder for one of the local rogues—”</p><p>“Sport, I don’t think you should be joining any cults,” Jack says firmly, looking alarmed.</p><p>
  <em>Oh my god, why is my dad such a dork?</em>
</p><p>Tim rolls his eyes. “I’m not actually joining a cult,” he reminds his visibly worried parents. Honestly, sometimes they just get on a roll and then they’re off, theorizing and debating together until they’re so far down a distant tangent that neither of them even remembers what they were talking about to begin with. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Seriously, I’m not planning to give up on business altogether—look, I’ll even double major. I’ll do the business degree you guys are so set on. I just want to pursue a culinary degree, too.”</p><p>He keeps his expression open and tries not to fidget. His mom hates it when he shows how much he wants something—that kind of vulnerability doesn’t serve well in the cutthroat business world. </p><p>His dad’s expression wavers, and he glances over to Tim’s mom, shrugging. She narrows her eyes at him, raises one expressive eyebrow, and then sighs before looking back at Tim. “And you still insist on completing your education in Gotham?” Her steely gaze fixes on his face, and he’s astonished to realize it looks like she might, possibly, actually be considering his proposed compromise.</p><p>
  <em>Wow. I can’t believe this might actually work.</em>
</p><p>Tim knows it isn’t the Ivy League education his parents have dreamed of for him since before he was even born, but this is what he wants to do with his life. He’s wanted it for too long to let anything as minor as parental objections get in his way, however inconvenient they may be. At this point, he’s pretty sure he would just put himself through school on his own if they continue to deny him, even if it takes years to make his way through while working to pay his own tuition. Maybe his mom can sense his determination, and that’s why she seems to be wavering.</p><p>“Yes,” Tim says cautiously, not willing to relax just yet. She might be lulling him into a false sense of security while she gears up for another line of attack. “I want to pursue a culinary degree at Gotham University because Bruce Wayne teaches an upper course class there. He’s been known to take an apprentice from his class on occasion.”</p><p>It goes without saying that being trained by Bruce Wayne, the famous and accomplished chef, successful restaurateur, and author, would absolutely make Tim’s career.</p><p>Janet looks thoughtful now, as though she’s considering new possibilities and finding to her surprise that she doesn’t entirely detest them. “Very well, darling.” She nods her head decisively and gives him a bright smile, apparently amused by the way he just jumped, eyes wide in shock at her words.</p><p>“Really?” Tim wasn’t prepared for this. He has speeches to handle being commanded, threatened, even disowned—but none for actually getting his way.</p><p>“Of course, darling! We only want the best for you, after all, and it seems you’ve put us in a position where compromise is necessary. Best to go along with this silliness for now rather than risk you throwing your entire future down the drain.” She doesn’t look entirely satisfied, but it’s far more of a capitulation than he dared hope for when he entered the dining room earlier. There he’d found both his parents sitting at the breakfast table reviewing acceptance letters from a star-studded array of universities. Clearly, they’d planned to inform him of his options and guide his choice.</p><p>Jack clears his throat. “Actually, staying local isn’t a bad idea. It won’t hurt to have you close by so you’re available to drop in on the DI office now and then, get an idea of what’s waiting for you.” He looks pleased. “We’ll still be able to catch a few Knights games during the season, too.”</p><p>Tim gives his dad a smile. That is one side benefit of his plan. His parents are busy people who rarely have much time to spare for him, so when they do, it’ll be great to be around and ready to take advantage of it.</p><p>Janet tinkles a delicate, slightly frightening laugh. It sets both Tim and his dad on edge and they turn to face her, slightly worried. That’s one of his mom’s boardroom laughs, and she only does it when there’s going to be blood in the water. “Of course, since you’re only spending <em>half</em> your attention on the degree we believe will actually be of importance later, your father and I will only be responsible for half the cost of your education.” She smirks.</p><p>Tim grins, heart light and overflowing with happiness. Janet narrows her eyes, clearly not having expected him to handle her decree with equanimity. She can’t possibly understand, though. It doesn’t matter if he has to get a job to support himself during school. This is exactly what Tim wants, what he’s wanted ever since he was just twelve years old.</p><p>It’s not something he ever expected he’d be able to have, not without a much bigger fight than this.</p><p>So what if he has to get a job? That’s just fine—no big deal. In fact, he already has just the job in mind.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tim shoves dirty dishes into the gigantic commercial dishwasher as fast as his arms can move, his formerly crisp uniform shirt sticking to his skin, drenched now with his sweat and the steam from the noisy machine. As he packs dishes and cups onto the moving conveyor belt, doing his best to fill every available space while keeping up with the pace of the machine, he watches his surroundings with avid interest.</p><p>Around him, the dinner crew at the restaurant perform their jobs like a well-oiled machine. The waiters scurry by, arms stacked high with trays, as the chefs swirl around each other, preparing and plating the elegant dishes for which The Butler’s Table is renowned. He can't believe he actually landed a job at Bruce Wayne’s flagship restaurant. It’s an incredible honor and an amazing opportunity. He intends to make the most of it.</p><p>Only… Tim isn’t completely sure he’s made the best first impression on his coworkers, considering one of them is glaring at him right now like he just dumped a bunch of ketchup straight into the sauce Espagnole.</p><p>“Hey, the fuck do you think you’re doing here, twerp?” Jason Todd scowls down at him from an impressive height, muscular arms crossed over his really unfairly broad chest. He’s even bigger and more attractive up close, so it takes Tim a moment to process that he’s glaring at him like he’s something he just scraped off his boot. “These dishes should already be washed, stacked, and ready to go out. The hell is a scrawny, inexperienced, worthless little rich brat like <em>you</em> doing working here, anyway?”</p><p>
  <em>Ouch. I don’t… What?</em>
</p><p>Tim’s face goes cold and then hot with stunned humiliation as the full import of the older man’s harsh words hits him. It is not a fun experience to be called out and found wanting by someone he’s looked up to since he was an overeager kid. Actually, it feels like someone just ripped his heart out and stomped on it.</p><p>Maybe this will finally be enough to shake the stupid torch he’s been carrying for the past three years. His heart twists. As if Jason Todd, wildly successful restaurateur and part-time hero, would ever look at someone as boring and unimpressive as Tim. It was ridiculous of him to even allow himself to imagine otherwise.</p><p>“I just started—” he begins, pulling himself together enough to try to defend himself. Seriously, he <em>literally </em>just started. He spent the first half of his shift getting walked through various protocols and procedures. At this point, he’s been working the dishwasher for a grand total of two minutes. It’s hardly fair to judge him based on the mountains of food-encrusted dishes which preceded his arrival.</p><p>“Whatever,” Jason says, shouldering past him with a dark expression on his annoyingly handsome face. “Not like you’re going to last long, anyway.”</p><p>Tim blinks, trying to recover from the discomfort of the unexpected encounter.</p><p>
  <em>I don’t think you’re my favorite anymore. Congrats, Babs, you’re moving up in the world. </em>
</p><p>Too bad his heart still wrenches painfully as he watches Jason walk away. It doesn’t seem to have gotten the message that he’s never going to be interested.</p><p>“Sorry about him!” A cheerful voice behind Tim causes him to turn, and he sees Dick Grayson looking after Jason with an expression of fond exasperation. “He’s a little touchy these days.”</p><p>“No kidding.” Tim frowns. It’s pretty common knowledge that Jason had a falling out with his mentor and set up his own competing restaurant chain, the Food Pit. Jason’s locations feature chef’s counters and an earthier, more blue collar dining experience than anything operating under the Wayne name. Tim’s brow furrows. Actually… “Wait, why is Jason Todd even here? Didn’t he start his own restaurant chain?”</p><p>Dick rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Yeah. Things are a little weird with him right now. He’s running his own places, but he’s technically still on staff here. We call him in when we really need a hand. He’s an incredible grill chef, you know. Sorry his bad attitude seems to have spilled over into his treatment of you, though.” He pats Tim comfortingly on the back.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Tim says as Dick wanders off, probably to get back to the front and the host duties he takes on when he’s not needed as a relief chef. At least someone’s being nice to him here.</p><p>Tim turns forlornly back to the huge loading rack and begins to carefully place dishes, cups, and silverware to try to catch up, or at least not fall further behind. It seems like an impossible task, but he’s got to make a good impression.</p><p>Remembering the scornful expression on Jason’s face, he suppresses a wince. Too late for that.</p><p>As though to make a mockery of Tim’s hopes, at that moment an irate voice rises above the general background bustle. He doesn’t even need to look to know the angry person is talking about him. </p><p>
  <em>Great. Just what I need. </em>
</p><p>“Who is <em>that? </em>Father, I demand to know the identity of this- this <em>peon </em>who has dared to creep into our restaurant and sully our dishes with his filthy, uncultured hands!”</p><p><em>Oh god, </em>why?</p><p>Tim doesn’t really want to turn, but his head swivels around anyway. There’s Bruce Wayne, looking elegant and fashionable in a tailored suit. He’s probably planning to pull host duties tonight, then, and not work in the kitchens. It always causes a stir when Bruce Wayne himself chooses to drop in to one of his restaurants, whether it’s to cook or shmooze.</p><p>That’s all well and good, but the restaurant owner isn’t the problem here. No, that would be the short person standing next to Bruce with his chin in the air. The boy is seemingly doing his damnedest to glare imperiously down at Tim despite being at least six inches shorter than him.</p><p>It’s Damian Wayne, Bruce’s youngest—and sole biological—child. He is Dick’s and Jason’s younger brother. Apparently, taking a strong dislike to Tim on sight runs in the family.</p><p>“Tim Drake!” Bruce says, a dazzling smile smeared across his movie-star handsome face. “It slipped my mind you were going to start tonight. Welcome to the team.” </p><p>“Hello, Mr. Wayne.” Tim starts to extend his hand, then awkwardly shifts the movement into a reach for one of the dirty mugs stacked nearby once he remembers he’s wearing rubber gloves covered in gross food debris. Hopefully no one noticed the aborted handshake attempt.</p><p>Bruce eyes his hand mistrustfully for a moment. Yeah, he definitely noticed. Whoops.</p><p>“Father!” Damian tugs on his dad’s sleeve, demanding his attention. “Do you mean to imply this peasant was intentionally hired? But you <em>promised </em>the next open position at The Butler’s Table would be <em>mine!” </em></p><p>
  <em>Oh, geez. This has the potential to turn into a mess, doesn’t it?</em>
</p><p>Bruce blinks, looking genuinely confused. “Damian, you’re ten.”</p><p>“Yes?” Damian taps his foot, arms crossed and green eyes snapping. “That is no reason to continue to deny me the position of vegetable chef.”</p><p>“You can’t legally work at the restaurant until you’re at least fourteen.” Bruce stares at his son for another long moment. “And even then, you’ll only be able to work when school is not in session, and no later than 9pm.”</p><p>The boy’s eyes go wide, then narrow down to slits. “This is <em>your </em>fault!” he hisses at Tim, who jumps, nearly dropping a dish in surprise. The kid scowls darkly before turning on his heel and striding rapidly away, visibly fuming.</p><p>“What—?” Tim is so confused.</p><p>“Damian, wait—” Bruce disappears, hurrying after his son without sparing Tim another glance.</p><p>Tim sighs, turning back to the Sisyphean task of trying to keep up with all the dishes a restaurant as popular as this one apparently generates in one night. He’s starting to maybe see why this position was available despite the competition to work at such an elite location.</p><p>Some of the giddy excitement with which he began his shift fades as he realizes the drudgery of the job he’s been given. It doesn’t help that he keeps remembering the contemptuous look on Jason’s face, along with Damian’s harsh words and Bruce’s apparent indifference.</p><p>
  <em>Well, that probably could have gone better. Then again, what did I expect? Of course it’s not easy to get close to Batman and his partners—even in their civilian roles. Maybe I can still win them over. </em>
</p><p>He’ll give it his best shot, anyway.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><strong>Tim, starting work at Bruce Wayne’s fancy restaurant:</strong> “Yay! I get to work with all my childhood heroes! Boy howdy, I sure hope they end up liking me—”<br/><strong>Jason, glaring at him:</strong> “Your face is stupid and I hate you” *Tramples all Tim’s delicate hopes and dreams as he walks away*<br/><strong>Tim, disappointed but clinging desperately to what’s left of his crushed hopes:</strong> “Well maybe SOME of them will like me—”<br/><strong>Damian, appearing just to sneer at him:</strong> “Foul peasant, I declare thee my nemesis! Away, lest I unleash my wrath—”<br/><strong>Bruce, muttering under his breath:</strong> “And this is why I hate it when Talia gets him for a weekend” *Collars Damian and drags him away, ignoring Tim*<br/><strong>Tim, alone and sad:</strong> *Turns to gigantic industrial dishwasher* “YOU’LL be my friend, right dishwasher?” *Winces as dishwasher emits huge cloud of smoke and begins to overflow* “Fml”</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite his less than ideal start, Tim is still excited at the thought of being part of Bruce Wayne’s restaurant crew. It’s the first step to gaining their trust and maybe becoming a vigilante himself, someday. He just has to work harder to get past the negative first impressions he made with a couple of the other staff. How difficult can it be?</p><p>Nearly impossible, as it turns out. Tim plasters on a friendly smile as he spots Damian Wayne striding past the break room. The boy is clearly on his way to poke around his father’s office or bother Dick, who’s busy taking inventory right now. Well, if the kid wants to work in the restaurant someday, maybe he’d like to learn a few of the skills he’ll need in order to fulfill those goals. “Hey, Damian, would you like me to show you some of the techniques for braising a—”</p><p>“Silence, loathsome imposter!” The brat doesn’t even break stride or turn to face him, but he still manages to cultivate an aura of danger.</p><p>Somehow, Tim gets the sense that he’s being threatened. He shivers, inching back to nestle into the dubious safety of the break room’s well-worn leather couch. Well, he has about twenty minutes left before his next shift starts. Maybe he can at least make some progress on the latest project for his international business finance class.</p><p>Keeping up with the coursework for his double major in addition to his shifts at The Butler’s Table is hard enough. Once he adds in the hours spent following the Bats around Gotham a few nights a week, his schedule is so packed that there’s barely any time left for sleep.</p><p>Whatever. It’s worth it to get the experience and train himself on patrol routes. Martial arts, self defense, gymnastics, and parkour training can only take him so far, after all. Tim’s going to need a lot more real world skills if he’s ever going to impress the Bats enough for them to let him join them.</p><p>After all, the rest of them were hand-picked as young teens by Bruce Wayne himself. Tim’s a little old to make the cut. It’s been his aim for years, though—the entire reason behind his interest in becoming a chef. Ever since he figured out that Gotham’s own local celebrity, the successful chef and restaurant owner Bruce Wayne, is actually Batman, and that all the chefs and bakers who work at his main restaurant location in downtown Gotham are also vigilantes, Tim has watched them.</p><p>It wasn’t until his parents were kidnapped a few years ago and subsequently rescued by Batman and his partners that Tim realized he wanted to be a vigilante, too. Ever since then, his path in life has been obvious.</p><p>He wants to be part of their team.</p><p>
  <em>This will all be worth it if I manage to become a hero. I just want a chance to help people like they do.</em>
</p><p>Tim snorts awake an unknown amount of time later, sneezing and smacking at his face to try to get rid of the annoying tickling sensation on his cheek. “Bwuh?”</p><p>“Fuck, that’s hilarious. Look at the idiot twitch. Here, hide the feather. Think he’s gonna notice he’s got a book-shaped imprint on his face?”</p><p>He recognizes that voice. Tim freezes, wondering if he can pretend he’s still asleep. Being caught in a ridiculous position sleeping in the break room is not part of his plans to prove himself to Jason Todd.</p><p>“Well, <em>now </em>he is. I mean, you just talked about it right in front of him, and he’s clearly awake.” Stephanie Brown’s loud, cheerful tones dash any plans Tim might have of faking sleep to get rid of them. Apparently the pastry chef is on shift tonight. This will be his first time actually meeting her in person. Well, clearly he’s tanked <em>that </em>particular chance to make a good impression. Damn it.</p><p>Tim sighs, prying his heavy eyes open and raising his head with difficulty. He’s so tired right now, all he wants to do is curl up in a ball and go back to sleep for the next week.</p><p>Jason actually recoils slightly when he catches sight of Tim’s face. “Damn, kid, the hell have you been doing to yourself? You look like death.”</p><p>“Uh. Thanks?” Tim blinks, brain still not fully online. Was that an insult? It almost sounded like Jason actually gives a damn about him.</p><p>Steph jabs Jason in the gut with her elbow. “Quit being mean! Maybe he just naturally looks like a zombie and has eyebags like a raccoon.”</p><p>“He doesn’t,” Jason says flatly, shaking his head and continuing to stare at Tim in an intent way that makes him squirm. “I saw him when I came in last week and he looked more, you know, <em>alive.”</em></p><p>Steph leans forward, peering at Tim with more interest now. “Really? I wonder what happened? Oh, ew, look what he’s reading.” She and Jason idly dig through Tim’s mountain of books, making faces at titles like <em>International Corporate Finance Solutions </em>and <em>International Tax Primer: Book Three. </em>“This is horrific. No wonder he fell asleep and looks like the undead.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m actually starting to feel sorry for the guy.” Jason’s deep voice sounds sincere.</p><p><em>Wow, I must look </em>really <em>pathetic right now if Mr. Aggressive is feeling pity for me. </em></p><p>“I’m right here, you know,” Tim complains, then yawns so wide he cracks his jaw before melting back into the couch. “Listening to everything you say.”</p><p>“Ooh, look at this one!” Steph flops down on the couch beside him, reaching right across his lap to burrow into his backpack. Sitting back up, she triumphantly waves his <em>Pastry and Baking Arts </em>book over her head. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” She starts paging through it, excitedly searching for familiar recipes. “This is the one that got me into baking in the first place.”</p><p>Jason’s frowning, thumbing more slowly through the other books in Tim’s backpack. “Kid,” he says after a while, looking down at Tim with a disbelieving, slightly concerned expression. “Why the hell are you carrying around this many upper division books? This is—there’s no <em>way </em>you’re taking all these classes.”</p><p>Tim blinks, confused. “Yes, I am.”</p><p>Now Steph turns to face him too, her blue eyes wide. “Wait, really? Just a guess based on the books I’ve seen, but you’d have to be taking at least four separate upper division classes within the culinary arts curriculum to need all of these. I don’t know anything about the rest of this mess, but that’s a full schedule right there.”</p><p>Jason nods, sitting down on the low table in front of the couch right on top of Tim’s books and scattered papers. “Yeah. And I’m two years into a business minor, myself, so I know enough to recognize you’ve got another full schedule of business and finance courses right on top of that.”</p><p>Relieved, Tim realizes what the problem is. “Oh, you guys are thinking about the standard units people take—like, twenty or twenty-one units is considered a full schedule. But did you know that tuition at Gotham U is the same per semester regardless of how many units you take, and units aren’t technically capped?” He grins, waving his hands around in excitement as Steph’s and Jason’s brows slowly rise. “So I can take as many units as I want each semester, and not have to pay any more than if I took the minimum!”</p><p>“Kid.” Jason looks appalled. “That’s <em>crazy. </em>You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep trying to carry a load like this, and work a part-time job—wait, why do you even care about the money? You’re fucking loaded.” A trace of the acrimony of their first encounter bleeds back into his tone, and he looks resentful.</p><p>Steph tilts her head. “Huh. So you’re rich, but you’re working here anyway? And what, trying to finish school as fast as possible for some reason?”</p><p>Tim bites his lip and shrugs. “I kinda have to work to pay for school.” He fidgets, uncomfortable with their stares. “My parents… weren’t very happy about my interest in culinary arts, and I had to double major in business to get them to even partially support me. So I pay for the rest myself. I figured, if I work really hard and take a lot of units I can finish school in half the time—and at half the cost.”</p><p>They’re both frowning at him now, Steph with a concerned expression and Jason with a strange look on his face like he’s trying to figure something out.</p><p>Tim glances at his phone just so he doesn’t have to meet their curious stares, then blinks in shock. “Oh, crap! I’m late for my shift.” He scrambles to shove all his books and notes back into his backpack. “Uh, see you guys later. Thanks for waking me up!” He hurries out of the room, trying to ignore the sensation of eyes following him all the way into the hall.</p><p>The rest of his shift goes a little better, fortunately. He’s yawning as he hurries over to the dishwasher, ready to plunge once again into the drudgery, when a slim hand closes gently on his wrist.</p><p>Looking up, his eyes widen in surprise when he sees Cassandra Cain looking at him with serious brown eyes. She studies him for a long moment, then smiles. “Help me today. Chef.”</p><p>Tim blinks, glancing at the dishwasher. “But…”</p><p>She shakes her head and turns to lead him toward the prep counters. “Don’t worry. Someone will cover.” Confused, he looks back over his shoulder. Sure enough, one of the numerous non-Bat affiliated part-time employees is now standing at the dishwasher, expertly loading it in Tim’s place.</p><p>He hurries to catch up with Cass, who has come to a halt in front of a counter loaded with half-assembled heures d'oeuvres and vegetables intricately carved to look like flowers. “Wow,” he breathes, completely distracted from his bewilderment by the gorgeous array of food.</p><p>“Wedding party tonight. Rehearsal dinner, not on the schedule,” she says tersely by way of explanation as she falls into place, picking up a half-carved red radish rose and a paring knife. “Favor for a friend of the owner.” She doesn’t sound upset about the extra last minute work, but she is slightly tense and he gets the sense that anyone less self-contained would be feeling harried in her position.</p><p>“What can I do?” He switches out his rubber gloves for disposable food-prep gloves and turns to the pantry chef, expectant.</p><p>She smiles, slow and surprisingly sweet. “I’ll do these.” She indicates the counter before her. You—chop.” She points at the counter opposite, piled with what looks like a veritable mountain of vegetables.</p><p>Tim swallows, slightly intimidated. That’s a lot of things to chop. Then again, it’s a long step up from the dishwasher. “Done.” He turns to his task, falling quickly into a rhythm as he preps the vegetables to supply the kitchen so the pantry chef can focus on the special order.</p><p>He’s barely aware of the passage of time as a stream of people come to give him directions and then go, taking what he preps nearly as fast as he can get it ready. It’s intense, but really fun to be right in the middle of things he’s only watched from afar up until now.</p><p>Dick grabs a bowl of diced onions, flashing a grateful grin. “Thanks, Tim—wait, when did you get promoted?” He pauses, looking comically confused.</p><p>“Field promotion,” Cass informs him, glancing over her shoulder. “Recommended.”</p><p>“Wait, what?” Who recommended him?</p><p>Cass nods toward where Steph is busily preparing what looks like delicate lemon tarts. The pastry chef glances up, a few strands of tousled blonde hair falling free from beneath her hat. “What? Oh, Tim! Yeah, he just seemed like he’s taking the job really seriously. Have you <em>seen </em>his course load?” She shrugs and grins. “Cass needed help, and I thought it would be nice to give him a chance to do more than the dishes around here.”</p><p>“Nicely done,” Barbara says, pausing as she passes by to look over his careful piles of sliced, julienned, diced, cubed, chopped, and minced vegetables with an expert eye. The senior chef and kitchen manager graces him with an encouraging smile. “I think maybe you’re wasted on the dishwasher. Come see me later about adding some prep shifts to your schedule.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s great!” Dick beams at him, weaving around Barbara’s wheelchair as he turns to make his way back to his own station. “Congrats, Timmy! Keep up the good work!”</p><p>Cass smiles and Steph cheers as Barbara turns and serenely glides away to check on one of the other stations.</p><p>Tim bites back a smile as he turns to the carrots he’s julienning. Some of the unease he’s been feeling since his unfortunate first day at the restaurant fades slightly. It looks like he’s managed to make a good impression on some of them, at least. Maybe he still has a fighting chance of being accepted here long-term.</p><p>He senses someone watching him again, and glances up to see Jason frowning his way. “You’re holding that wrong,” the man says gruffly, reaching forward to roughly reposition his hand on the paring knife. “You’re gonna get a cramp in your hand if you keep gripping it like that.”</p><p>His hand lingers for a moment, making sure Tim continues to use the tool appropriately. He can’t help but notice that Jason’s hand is warm and covers his own hand completely.</p><p>“Oh. Uh, thanks,” Tim says, biting his lip and trying not to cringe in embarrassment. He knows how to hold a knife correctly—it just slipped a bit when he realized Jason was watching him. He sighs, resigning himself to the obvious truth that he will never manage to make a good impression on Jason.</p><p>The gruff grill cook clears his throat and turns away, clearly not intending to waste any more time on him.</p><p>Tim sighs, wishing Jason were as friendly as most of the others have turned out to be, then squares his shoulders and resumes working. No use repining over might-have-beens when he’s still got a chance. All he has to do is keep his head down, do good work, and maybe in time he’ll manage to earn their trust and a real place on their team.</p><p>As long as nothing else goes sideways, he should be able to pull this off.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tim’s just made it up to a ledge overlooking the Dixon Docks when he spots an odd flash from an upper window on one of the buildings opposite. He raises his camera and looks through it, zooming in until he can make out the details of what he’s seeing.</p><p>The window in question is broken with several missing panes. There’s a man inside of the boarded-up warehouse, along with what looks like a long-range sniper rifle setup. It’s pointed right at the load of crates Tim happens to know Bluejay and Spoiler are planning to investigate tonight.</p><p>Tim’s camera slides down to dangle on its strap around his neck as his nerveless fingers loosen in shock. Nothing like this has ever happened before while he was following the Bats. Usually, he just listens in on their comms and makes his way to somewhere with a good vantage point of wherever the action is going to be, then documents and tries to learn from what he sees.</p><p>He’s never been in a position where he could actually warn the Bats about an incipient attack. This isn’t something he’s prepared for—his communicator is one-way, to avoid ever accidentally giving himself away. The horrible thought that he might be about to watch Bluejay or Spoiler get shot fills him with icy fear. </p><p><em>No, </em>Tim thinks, clenching his hands in determination. <em>That isn’t going to happen. </em></p><p>If he can’t warn them away on the comms, he’ll just have to find another way to reveal the trap to them. Tim carefully slides off his pack and digs through it, looking for—there. His hand closes on a birdarang, one of many bits of discarded equipment he’s picked up over the years.</p><p>The Bats really aren’t as careful with their tech as they could be. He’s seen plenty of street kids defending themselves using batarangs and birdarangs. Actually, he’s pretty sure Bluejay hands his out among the street kids on purpose, so maybe it’s more intentional than it looks. Tim knows based on his own secret observations that the split between Bluejay and Batman resulted more from differences in philosophy over crime fighting techniques than anything that happened in the restaurant. Part of that difference seems to be a deeper connection with Gotham’s people.</p><p>Anyway, this particular birdarang is special. Tim fiddled with it a bit, drilling hollows into it and filling them with a few potentially useful compounds. He was just trying to work out something that might be useful in the field one day. Hopefully, it will serve him well now. Once this birdarang hits its target, it should, in theory, make stealth <em>very </em>difficult for the guy trying to get one over on the Bats.</p><p>Now, he just has to time this right, and aim carefully.</p><p>It’s only a few minutes later that he spots a pair of shadows moving across the rooftops, heading toward him from the north along the expected route. It’s Bluejay and Spoiler, all right. Tim carefully inhales, then holds his breath as he aims. This isn’t really that different from all those hours he’s spent practicing on his own in the backyard, even if his panicking brain is telling him it is. </p><p><em>I can do this, </em>he thinks, and throws the birdarang.</p><p>His face splits into a grin as the birdarang passes through one of the missing windowpanes and lands with a solid thunk against the far interior wall of the grimy room. An instant later, the birdarang explodes with a shrill scream, a burst of glitter, and intermittent bursts of light.</p><p>“Holy shit, what was <em>that?” </em>Spoiler’s voice echoes strangely over the comms, and he mutes them so he can listen to what’s happening right in front of him.</p><p>“Don’t know, but there’s a gun in that room. Lemme just—” Bluejay tosses a few well-placed birdarangs of his own, knocking down the stunned, coughing assailant. The man doesn’t put up much of a fight, too busy gagging on glitter. It’s possible he’s maybe, <em>slightly </em>blinded and deafened by the bright, noisy fireworks Tim used to fill that particular birdarang. The glitter was just for style.</p><p>Glitterang? It’s entirely possible he’s going to regret inventing this thing at some point.</p><p>He’s snickering as he gets the heck out of there. Bluejay and Spoiler will be fine. Now he just needs to make sure <em>he </em>doesn’t end up being spotted and breaking his cover of nearly ten years.</p><p>It’s not until he’s already back in his apartment, chest heaving as he catches his breath, that he realizes. In his blind rush to save Bluejay and Spoiler, he almost certainly leaned out too far from his hiding place while positioning himself to throw that birdarang.</p><p>He’s not positive, but it might have been far enough that he exposed himself to one of Oracle’s cameras. Tim knows from experience watching and listening to the Bats how that always ends. Once she picks him up on one, she won’t rest until she finds him on another. And another, until she has him.</p><p>Tim sinks to the floor, his legs suddenly feeling like nothing more than a pair of limp noodles. Tomorrow is not going to be fun.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><strong>Tim, finally making progress on bonding with and impressing the Bats:</strong> “Yay, now I just need to enact my seventeen-step plan to gradually earn their trust before revealing my knowledge of their secret identities—”<br/><strong>Bluejay and Spoiler, about to get shot right in front of him:</strong> “Wheeee! Gosh life is awesome, it would sure suck to be horribly injured in a totally preventable way—”<br/><strong>Tim, strongly questioning his own life choices and terrible luck:</strong> “Seriously? I mean, C’MON” *Saves them, revealing himself in the process* “Dammit”</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim gets to the restaurant at the last possible minute, changing quickly and then slinking over to the dishwasher to start loading it up. He’s hoping against hope that no one will try to talk to him.</p><p>There’s always the possibility that Oracle’s cameras weren't working last night, or maybe a convenient moth landed on the lens at the critical moment. He <em>might </em>not be walking into a full-on Bat-level interrogation. There’s a chance he isn’t about to face the intense paranoia, suspicion, and scrutiny of Batman himself.</p><p>And anyway, it’s not like he did anything technically wrong<em>. </em>He just… didn’t disclose the full extent of his knowledge when he applied for the job here. Although, now that he’s thinking about it, that looks pretty bad. Or at least, it will from Batman’s point of view.</p><p>He sighs, his shoulders slumping. Maybe if he just doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, they’ll leave him alone?</p><p>It doesn’t work. Jason and Steph beeline for him the second he walks through the door, corralling him against the dishwasher and then herding him down the hall toward Bruce’s office. His heart sinks as he takes in their hard expressions. Steph frowns when he makes eye contact, and she looks away quickly as she reaches to open the door.</p><p>Well, what did he expect? There’s a reason he’s hidden his knowledge of the Bats’ identities all these years. Of course they wouldn’t be pleased to find out about him knowing. His dreams of joining their team as a chef by day, vigilante by night, seem to slip further beyond his reach with every second as Jason stares at him with that harsh, almost disappointed expression.</p><p>Steph swings the door wide and steps through. He can see past her to the interior of the office, where seemingly everyone on the staff is waiting for him, all of their expressions blank and measuring.</p><p>Tim lets out a terrified little, “Meep,” and tries to escape back out the door, only to run smack into the immovable wall of Jason Todd. Jason’s big hand locks on his shoulder, his hold firm but not tight to the point of pain. He tenses, feeling the strength of that grip. Memories from years of watching Jason, as Robin and then Bluejay, flood his mind—he’s seen that hand break an awful lot of collarbones using a pretty similar hold.</p><p>“Please don’t break my collarbone,” he blurts out, then flushes. Well, clearly he’s not going to impress them with his bravery and stoic endurance under the threat of torture.</p><p>Not that the Bats do torture… Right? He feels significantly less confident about that right now than he probably should.</p><p>Jason’s grip relaxes for a moment and his brows rise in apparent surprise. “The fuck? I’m not gonna break your collarbone, kid. Jesus. Just not gonna let you slip away until we get some answers from you.” He adjusts his hold on Tim’s shoulder and clears his throat, then drags him the rest of the way into the office and shuts the door, locking it behind them. “I’m not <em>that </em>much of an asshole.”</p><p>Tim wants to close his eyes, but he can’t seem to turn away from all the faces staring at him so coldy. Bruce and Dick are standing on either side of the desk, arms folded as they regard him with matched measuring glares.</p><p>Barbara sits between them, her wheelchair pulled up to the desk. She doesn’t look at him as she continues typing busily on a tablet, but Tim’s damn sure she’s got at least one on-screen window replaying his appearance on the office security footage. Heck, she probably has his vitals pulled up as well. Who knows what kind of surveillance equipment the Bats have set up in here?</p><p>His heart pounds even faster at the thought that she, at least, must know how scared he is. It makes him feel even more vulnerable.</p><p>This sucks.</p><p>It’s like something from one of his worst nightmares come to life. To Bruce’s left, Damian is scowling at Tim so fiercely that he experiences a brief but heartfelt surge of gratitude for the existence of the Bat’s no-kill rule. Steph moves to stand near Dick, and Tim jumps slightly when he realizes there’s someone else present, slightly behind them. She was so still until now, he had no idea she was there.</p><p>It’s Cass. The slim young woman stares at him silently, her dark eyes focused and intent. When they’re in the kitchen, it’s easy to forget that she’s Cassandra Cain, the Black Bat. Right now, the Black Bat is all he sees. He doesn’t get the impression she’s angry or upset, like the others. It’s worse. She’s a complete blank to him—he has no idea what she’s thinking. Knowing what he does about her capabilities, Tim has to suppress a flinch at the thought of what she might do if she decides he’s a threat to her family.</p><p>Bruce clears his throat. Tim’s heart starts pounding as his hands go cold and clammy at the look on the man’s face. That’s <em>Batman, </em>glaring down at him like he’s nothing more than a minor challenge, an insignificant puzzle, to be broken open and then tossed aside once his innermost secrets are spilled across the floor like so much trash.</p><p>He recognizes that expression. After all, he’s seen it hundreds of times, right before the Bat unleashes himself to take a dangerous criminal down, fast and hard.</p><p>“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Bruce intones, then stares at him for an infinitely long moment before he continues speaking. His voice is gravelly and dark, a barely-leashed threat. “You know more than you should.” He somehow manages to loom even more over Tim, who barely resists cowering back into Jason’s sturdy, unyielding frame.</p><p>“Meep.” It slips out again, and Tim would blush if he wasn’t frozen in terror. The thought flashes through his mind that they’ve got to have ways of making people forget secrets short of actually killing them. The Bats <em>do </em>have a no-kill rule… right? Anyway, he saved Jason and Steph! That has to count for something, even if they’re all furious about the stalking and the lies by omission and—okay, yeah.</p><p>He’s screwed.</p><p>Barbara raises a fine red brow and types a command on the tablet. Suddenly, panels slide open on the office walls and computer screens emerge, each filled with frozen images of Tim at various ages in night scenes at locations around Gotham. The images begin to move, and he realizes she’s managed to unearth a <em>lot </em>of footage of him.</p><p>
  <em>Dang. I had no idea I got caught on camera so many times. </em>
</p><p>“I didn’t know there was a camera there,” he murmurs, staring at a shot of what looks to be his nine year-old self, edging carefully along a crumbling ledge. As they all watch, the boy’s foot slips and he bites back a yelp, catching himself on a gutter with one hand and then raising his camera with the other to get the shot he risked his life for.</p><p>“Geez,” Steph murmurs, sounding horrified. “You were a <em>baby.”</em></p><p>“Where the heck was that camera?” he mutters, frowning at the angle. “Disguised as a wad of gum and stuck to the wall?”</p><p>“It seems you didn’t know about a number of our cameras,” Barbara says, voice smooth and not a speck of friendliness in her demeanor. “You have been following us for a <em>long </em>time.”</p><p>Tim blinks rapidly, gaze darting from screen to screen. There he is at twelve, clumsily practicing rooftop running and laughing softly in exhilaration when he makes it across a wide divide in time to catch the tail end of a fight between Batman and Mr. Freeze.</p><p>There he is at fifteen, significantly less clumsy in his efforts as he uses momentum and his newly-acquired training to run and climb right up the side of a building. He darts out of sight just a moment before Nightwing goes tumbling into the alley below, locked in combat with Killer Croc. Bluejay, newly broken out on his own and still at odds with Batman, drops in on the fight from above, boots first, grumbling all the while about annoying Bats even as he fights to defend his big brother.</p><p>Tim’s gaze catches on another scene, playing out on the far wall. There he is at eighteen, leaning out just a little too far in his urgency and clearly mouthing the words, "Jason, no." He doesn't remember saying that. No wonder the Bats are worried, though—with this footage, it's obvious that he must know their secret identities. His face is devastatingly visible in the shot as he readies himself and then throws his stupid birdarang at the sniper. He slips back into the shadows and disappears an instant later, but the damage is done.</p><p>“You were good. You obviously managed to conceal yourself almost perfectly from our cameras for years—these are the only shots I was able to find.” Barbara sounds discontent, offended by his audacity. Tim has the weirdest urge to apologize to her for it.</p><p>“What I want to know is <em>why.” </em>It’s Batman’s voice again, and Batman’s glare drilling holes into him as he reflexively shrinks back. “Why would you do this? What was in it for you? And why did you break cover now, seemingly to no benefit for yourself?” His eyes narrow as he stares at Tim, continuing relentlessly. Every word feels like an assault. “What is your grand <em>plan? </em>You must have had some reason to worm your way into our civilian lives. Tell us now, and save yourself a lot of pain.” His voice drops grimly as his hands tighten into fists, leaving no doubt that it’s a threat he intends to follow through on.</p><p>Batman’s words slam into Tim like blows and his throat tightens, face going hot and then cold as he listens to Batman, his <em>hero, </em>treat him like he’s beyond redemption, as bad as any of the monsters he fights every night.</p><p><em>This isn’t how it was meant to be. I wanted to help you, impress you, and maybe try to become a part of it all. Fight by your side, not… not </em>this.</p><p>Tim’s eyes sting, and to his horror, he feels his vision going blurry. Oh no. Not only is he being interrogated by a belligerent, angry Batman, he’s about to start <em>crying </em>in front of him.</p><p>Bruce charges on mercilessly, probably sensing his weakness. “Why did you attempt to infiltrate our organization? What are your intentions? What is the level of your parents’ involvement in your plans? How deeply have we been compromised? <em>Speak.” </em></p><p>His harsh demand makes Tim jump in Jason’s steady grip. To his shame, he realizes he’s trembling, an involuntary reaction to the adrenaline pounding through him at the excoriating verbal attack.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Tim flinches, closing his eyes as the words rip out of him, voice embarrassingly high and thin. He sucks in a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset everyone. I didn’t mean—it wasn’t supposed to be like this.” He squeezes his eyes shut more tightly, trying to hold in the hot tears that he can feel welling up. “I don’t have any intentions—not <em>bad </em>ones, I mean. Last night, I just saw Bluejay and Spoiler were in trouble, so I did what I had to to save them. I couldn’t just let them get <em>hurt</em>.”</p><p>There’s a moment of silence as his audience processes his words, presumably weighing them against some scale of justice only they are privy to. Tim feels so small and helpless, pinned there for his heroes’ judgement.</p><p>“If you don’t mean any harm… What do you want, then?” It’s Dick who answers, voice surprisingly gentle.</p><p>Tim distantly recognizes it as the voice he uses to talk to victims and the very young. Well, he’ll take it. “I thought—I just wanted to try to help. I figured out you were Batman when I was nine—I recognized a move Robin did because I’d seen Dick Grayson do the same thing in a live performance, years before.”</p><p>Someone sucks in a breath, and Tim mentally apologizes to Dick for calling to mind the only time the Flying Graysons performed in Gotham. Reminding the kind acrobat of his parents’ terrible deaths is just one more stone to add to the mountain of blame already heaped against him.</p><p>He continues. “I was alone a lot as a kid, so there was no one around to stop me from slipping out and following you guys. I didn’t mean any harm—I just wanted to watch real heroes fighting to do good.”</p><p>“Okay,” Steph says, sounding more sympathetic than angry. “That’s—well, kinda messed up, actually. A little kid shouldn’t have been in those places. It’s pretty screwed up that no one ever noticed you.”</p><p>Tim shrugs. He’s never been very noticable. He’s used to it.</p><p>“What the fuck, <em>seriously? </em>You were <em>nine—</em>why the fuck were you even involved in this shit way back then?” Jason sounds almost offended on Tim’s behalf.</p><p>“Poor adult supervision and high levels of curiosity are a bad combination, I guess.” Tim bites his lip, hoping the interrogation will wind down soon. It hasn’t actually gotten that bad, so far. No one’s even slammed him into a wall or dangled him off a rooftop by his ankles.</p><p>“But wait, that little story is cute and all, but it doesn’t explain why the <em>fuck </em>you’re working here. Having your mom bribe B to get you a job here right before you stop that convenient little assassination attempt—well, you gotta see it looks bad.” Jason sounds harsh again and his hand tightens on Tim’s shoulder, making him flinch. “The hell is her angle, huh? Trying to get you in good with us, then take advantage? What’s it supposed to be, blackmail? Or just us lookin’ the other way while Drake Industries gets their hands dirty?” He pauses, bridling. “When we track down who hired that sniper, are we gonna find Drake Industries behind it?”</p><p>
  <em>Wait, what the heck? That doesn’t make any sense at all!</em>
</p><p>“What?” Tim’s eyes fly open, and he twists in Jason’s grip to stare at him in puzzlement. “I have no idea what you’re even talking about right now. My mom <em>hates </em>the idea of me wanting to be a chef. She would <em>never </em>help me get a job at any restaurant, let alone engineer some crazy plan to manipulate you guys. I swear, I never told anyone what I figured out about your identities. My parents have no idea.”</p><p>Jason’s brows lower in a deep frown, but his hand relaxes again. Tim lets out a shaky breath.</p><p>Bruce finally speaks. He’s frowning, his gaze directed at his second son. “Jaylad, how did you know about Janet Drake asking me to consider Tim for the position at the restaurant?”</p><p>“Fuck.” Jason shifts his weight and shrugs, sounding embarrassed when he replies. “Okay, so I know when I left after that big fight we had before I ran away and you guys had to save my dumb ass from the Joker, I said I didn’t give a steaming shit about your restaurants or the family anymore…” He winces. “So, that mighta been a lie. It’s <em>possible </em>I might’ve been listening in on your personal line once in a while, just to make sure everything was goin’ okay.” He clears his throat, seeming uneasy at the admission. </p><p>“Aw, Jay, that’s adorable! You <em>do </em>care.” Dick snickers as Jason blushes and growls. Then he tilts his head, looking at Bruce. “Wait, so you <em>did </em>accept some kind of bribe from Janet Drake to give Tim a job? That’s… not exactly standard operating procedure.”</p><p>Bruce twitches, looking deeply uncomfortable. “No. Jason—he must have only overheard a portion of that conversation. Janet and I were once—<em>close—</em>and when she contacted me to ask me to take her son under my wing, I felt I owed it to our old friendship to do what I could for him.”</p><p>Tim blinks, processing all of that. Then he frowns. What Bruce said made it sound a lot like…</p><p>“You were in a relationship with my <em>mom?” </em>His voice rises and the question ends in an embarrassing yelp.</p><p>Damian, uncharacteristically silent until now, bridles. “If Drake is revealed to be your illegitimate son, Father, I demand to be positioned in the will as your true heir! In the event of your untimely death, I will endeavor to prevent him from being an embarrassment to our name.” His expression shows how very difficult he anticipates that hypothetical task to be.</p><p>“Hey now,” Tim says mildly, then almost chokes. “Wait, I’m <em>not, </em>right?” This whole experience has already been stressful enough—the last thing he needs is to find out he’s actually Bruce Wayne’s biological son.</p><p>For one thing, that would make things <em>super </em>awkward at home for a while.</p><p>Bruce actually <em>does </em>choke. “What? No. No!” He shakes his head, looking horrified. “Janet and I ended our relationship amicably, about a year before she met your father. We never resumed our, er, closer interactions.”</p><p>Tim sags back against Jason in relief, too drained to feel embarrassed by anything at this point. “Thank god.”</p><p>“How dare you imply it would not be a great honor to be my father’s son!” Damian looks ready to launch himself across the room to attack Tim. “You should be grateful for the mere possibility of having sprung from his exalted loins, you cur!”</p><p>
  <em>What. </em>
</p><p>There’s so much wrong with that statement, Tim can’t do anything but marvel at the sheer level of <em>what the heck </em>that just came out of that kid’s mouth. Dick is blinking down at the child, an expression of shock on his handsome face. Steph is tittering and nudging Cass with her elbow. Barbara is facepalming and muttering to herself. Even Bruce looks discomfited by his youngest child’s words. Or possibly by the reference to his own loins—it’s hard to tell.</p><p>Jason eyes the brat, then gently nudges Tim behind himself, almost as though to protect him from any potential Damian-related attacks. “Yeah… Okay, so <em>that</em> was weird and uncomfortable for everyone. Anyway.” He scrubs a hand over his face, then turns to look at Bruce. “So, what’s the verdict, B? I think we can probably all agree this guy isn’t running a long game, planning to take us down from the inside. I don’t think he’s faking any of this.”</p><p>Bruce regards Tim for a lengthy moment, frown intensifying. “While I am satisfied your intentions were initially benign, I still need an answer regarding your choice to pursue a job here at The Butler’s Table.”</p><p>“Oh,” Tim says, his eyes widening with realization. “I guess I didn’t mention that part, huh? Well, you probably barely remember this—you save so many people, after all—but back when I was twelve, my parents were kidnapped and held hostage. You saved them—”</p><p>“I remember,” Bruce says quietly. “Of course I do. I was glad to be able to get to them in time.”</p><p>Tim nods. “Only, Mom said if it had been just you there, they <em>wouldn’t </em>have been saved. They were exhausted and thirsty once you fought off their captors and untied them, and they tried to drink some water that was sitting there…”</p><p>Dick snaps his fingers, clearly remembering now. “And I stopped them! You’re right. That water turned out to be poisoned.”</p><p>“If you hadn’t been there with Batman, my parents probably would have died. That was when I realized that for all the amazing things Batman does, for all the people he saves—he still needs partners at his side, ready to help.” Tim shrugs again. “So, that’s why. I decided I wanted to do everything I could to become one of Batman’s partners, to try to give something back. Getting a job at the restaurant seemed like a good way to start.”   </p><p>There’s silence for a while after he finishes talking. Jason’s hold seems to have morphed at some point into a loose arm draped over his shoulders, tucking him protectively close. The big man squeezes him gently, looking at Bruce in an expectant manner. “Well, B?”</p><p>“Good,” Cass says decisively. Steph and Dick both nod vigorously while Damian scowls, crossing his arms. Bruce looks from them to Jason to a smiling Barbara, and sighs.</p><p>Tim looks around, eyes wide and hopeful as his gaze swings back to Bruce.</p><p><em>Is it over? They don’t seem angry anymore… </em> </p><p>Finally, Bruce rubs at his mouth, clearly trying to hide a faint smile of his own at his children’s reactions. He turns back to Tim. “You’ll have to choose a vigilante identity…” he begins, and Tim’s face lights up with stunned excitement.</p><p>“Really?” Wait, what? Bruce is actually going to let him <em>join the team? </em>Even after this whole mess? He honestly can’t believe this is happening.</p><p>“Welcome to the team, kiddo,” Dick says, grinning at him as Jason rubs his shoulder comfortingly, seemingly unaware of what he’s doing. “If you’re going to be one of us, I guess we should take you down and show you the Bunker now.”</p><p>“The Bunker?” That sounds intriguing.</p><p>“It is our base of operations below the restaurant,” Damian replies, in a tone insinuating that Tim’s a pathetic fool for not already knowing that.</p><p>Tim doesn’t even care. “So cool,” he murmurs, practically vibrating with excitement.</p><p>“If you think <em>that’s </em>cool, just wait until you see the Bat Cave.” Steph snickers when Tim turns to face her, eyes wide.</p><p>“Wait, there’s an actual <em>cave?” </em>This night just keeps getting better.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><strong>Tim, terrified and panicking:</strong> *Slips into the restaurant, attempts to hide under the industrial dishwasher* “If they can’t FIND me, they can’t yell at me for knowing their identities—”<br/><strong>Jason, reaching under dishwasher to pull him out by the scruff:</strong> “Yoink!”<br/><strong>Tim, barely refraining from peeing his pants:</strong> “Meep”<br/><strong>Batman, furious and terrifying:</strong> *Exists*<br/><strong>Tim, actually peeing his pants:</strong> “MEEP!”<br/><strong>Jason, recoiling slightly in disgust:</strong> “Dude! Also…” *Presents detailed but flawed theory about Tim’s secret antecedents as a budding criminal mastermind*”<br/><strong>Tim, blinking in confusion:</strong> “Meep?”<br/><strong>Cass, translating:</strong> “He’s innocent”<br/><strong>Everyone else:</strong> “Oh okay, cool. Let’s show him the Bat Cave!”<br/><strong>Tim, brightening and looking up from where he’s still dangling by the scruff from Jason’s meaty paw:</strong> “Meep!”</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Redbird steps up to the very edge of the rooftop of the Drake Industries Headquarters, a massive tower soaring high above the Gotham skyline. A few stars glimmer through the dark clouds and a light breeze pulls at his cape as he stares down at the twinkling city lights, still not quite able to comprehend that this is actually happening.</p><p>A light scrape and a soft chuckle behind him send him spinning, his heart hammering. “Hey there, Baby Bird.” Bluejay moves forward to stand by his side, rubbing the back of his neck and looking mildly apologetic. “Didn’t mean to scare you. It would be kinda shitty of me to startle you off a skyscraper your first night out in a cape.”</p><p>“Baby Bird…?” Redbird raises an inquiring brow, then shakes his head. At least it’s better that some of the names <em>Robin’s</em> been calling him since he joined the roster. “Yeah, that would definitely suck,” he says, his mind involuntarily recalling all of the intensive training and testing Batman put him through before letting him out in the field. The last thing he needs is to screw things up somehow now. Bruce would definitely put him right back on the bench if anything like that happened.  “Let’s not do that.”</p><p>Bluejay snickers. “Fair enough.” He glances at Redbird, hesitates, and then scuffs at the rooftop with a boot before continuing. “Look… I know you and I kinda got off on the wrong foot, back when you started at the restaurant. I just—well, I wanted to apologize, and try to explain what the hell I thought I had against you to start with.”</p><p>Redbird blinks, turning to study the other man. Jason hasn’t been around all that much since that crazy confrontation a few weeks ago. When Tim asked after him, Dick just said that this kind of thing happens a lot. Jason has his own business to run and his own way of operating on the vigilante side of things, so apparently it’s pretty normal for him to go long stretches between appearances at the restaurant.</p><p>Not that Tim had been worried about him, or hoping to see him again or anything. Of course not. He blushes, cursing the dumb butterflies in his stomach which still haven’t caught up with the situation. Jason Todd isn’t some idealized hero, brash and strapping and ready to sweep Tim off his feet with a crooked grin and a quip just because that’s what Tim wishes would happen.</p><p>He’s a real person, a guy who loves to sing while he cooks and cracks lewd jokes no matter who’s listening. Sure, he saves people and is generally awesome, but he’s also kind of an asshole.</p><p>If only Redbird could turn off his stupid crush as easily as the way Bluejay took one look at him, and decided he wasn’t worth his time. Although… The few times he has been around, at the restaurant or in the Bunker, he’s been kinder. Tim just figured he was making the best of things since they’re going to be on a team together from now on.</p><p>It definitely doesn’t mean Jason likes him now, or even finds his company tolerable. No, the extra hours spent teaching him how to use a grapnel and the advice on his new costume were almost certainly just him trying to make sure his new teammate is up to speed.</p><p>And that time he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves to help Tim get through a bad dinner rush was Jason being a good coworker, nothing more. Even if his teasing grin and gentle banter had sent Tim’s dumb crush flaring up, as had the way their arms kept accidentally brushing together.</p><p>Although the fact that he’s corrected Tim’s hand positioning on his paring knife no fewer than three times over the past couple of weeks is a little odd. He’s positive he was holding it correctly each of those times, and the way Jason stood so close behind him—well, it’s enough to give a guy ideas.</p><p>Dumb ideas, ones that are only going to get him hurt. He really shouldn’t overanalyze their interactions and start seeing things that aren’t there.</p><p>“I didn’t realize you had changed your mind about me,” he says carefully.</p><p>Jason seemed to relent a little during that uncomfortable interrogation, but that might have just been pity at the way Bruce was going after him. And of course, all of their interactions since then have obviously just been Jason trying to be a good teammate. “But sure, go ahead. I wouldn’t mind knowing what I did to make you so angry at me that first day.” Although he might have something of an idea, based on Jason’s words to Bruce. “Was it something to do with you thinking my mom got me the job on false pretenses?”</p><p>“Yep,” Bluejay says with a sigh, reaching up to scrub at his face with one big, gloved hand. “I’m sorry, man. I just heard what I thought was some rich bitch—fuck, I mean rich lady—turning the screws on B to get him to take an entitled little prick on at the Table. Me and the others all worked our asses off to get where we are, and the thought of some snot-nosed brat with a silver spoon up his ass just waltzing in and expecting to have everything handed to him—” He coughs, sounding embarrassed. “Well, it didn’t feel great.”</p><p>“Oh,” Redbird says, shifting awkwardly. “Uh, sorry?”</p><p>Bluejay reaches out to pat him roughly on the shoulder, then lets his hand slide down and leaves it resting companionably on Redbird’s lower back. “Not your fault. Besides all that, I’d just gotten into it with B again when I met you, so I was already in a bad mood and spoiling for a fight.”</p><p>His hand on Redbird’s back starts rubbing soft, slow circles. It’s totally possible he’s forgotten it’s there. Redbird doesn’t want to remind him, so he just stands there, frozen, until Bluejay breaks the silence.</p><p>“So, are we good?” The hand on Redbird’s back finally pulls away as Bluejay draws back, looking uncomfortable at Redbird’s silence. “Uh, shit. If you’d rather not work with me after the way I acted, I can understand—”</p><p>Redbird finally manages to unfreeze. “Wait! No, it’s fine. That makes sense.” He reaches out to catch Bluejay’s hand, trying to keep him from running away. “It was an understandable assumption, and I know you have a lot to protect. I must have seemed like a threat.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Bluejay twists his hand in Redbird’s, adjusting to a more comfortable position. When Redbird doesn’t pull away, he weaves their fingers together and gives him a hopeful grin. “It was a lot. I’d already started to warm up to you a bit, after finding out how damn hard you were working for your degrees and seeing you bust your ass to do a good job in the restaurant, and then <em>bam! </em>You turned out to be hiding all these fuckin’ secrets.”</p><p>Bluejay shakes his head, snickering. “For a hot minute there, I really thought you were a budding villain, one of those evil genius businessman types with a pretty face hiding a black heart. And then you turned out to be this sweet, awesome guy, not evil at all. I felt like such a dick about what a bastard I was to you before.”</p><p>He looks down, his face twisting in a grimace of self-recrimination, and Redbird doesn’t stop to think. He just reaches up and cups Bluejay’s cheek gently with his free hand. Bluejay doesn’t immediately punch him, so he figures it’s okay. “Hey, quit feeling so bad about it. You said sorry, I forgave you. That’s all we need to go on with.” He smiles. “Now, this is my first official patrol. I think we should have some fun with it.”</p><p>Bluejay’s expression clears as Redbird speaks, and he looks at him questioningly. His own free hand steals up to tentatively cover Redbird’s hand on his cheek like he’s not sure it’s actually there. “Yeah?” His voice is a little hoarse and he’s leaning in slightly.</p><p>Redbird grins, feeling reckless and happy, his heart pounding at their proximity. “You wanna show me how to fly?”</p><p>“Fuck yeah!” Bluejay looks down at him, then smirks. He uses their joined hands to draw Redbird forward flush against his chest and leans down to murmur in his ear. “It’s easiest to get the hang of it if someone else shows you the ropes first. You wanna?”</p><p>He can feel every inch of Bluejay’s tall, strong, thick body pressed against him. There’s only one possible answer to that question. “Heck yeah!”</p><p>Bluejay chuckles in his ear as he draws Redbird even closer, pulls out his grapnel, and fires.</p><p>Flying is even better than he expected. Or maybe it’s the thrilling company. Either way, Redbird’s first patrol is <em>incredible. </em></p><p>Everything’s so much more vivid and real without a camera lens between him and the action. He’s secretly grateful Bluejay’s by his side more than once as they fly through the city, together at first and then eventually on separate grapnel lines. The older vigilante is skilled and experienced in ways Redbird just isn’t yet, and it shows as he guides him through breaking up a gang fight, stopping a drug deal, and chasing down a pair of attempted muggers.</p><p>“So, is this what it’s like every night?” Redbird tilts his head to see Bluejay, who inhales deeply and then releases his breath with a happy sigh. The pair of vigilantes are stretched out on their backs on top of a warehouse overlooking the bay. They’re both still panting and grinning from the exhilarating chase. The would-be muggers they finally caught after a dramatic pursuit are being booked by a couple of officers down below.</p><p>“Wouldn’t you know?” Bluejay shifts his arm so it presses against Redbird’s, a line of searing heat he can’t stop thinking about. “I mean, apparently you were right there with us the whole damn time.” Redbird tenses slightly at the reference to his unsanctioned activities in the past. “Little stalker,” Bluejay shakes his head, sounding amused and affectionate, and Redbird relaxes.</p><p>“I guess. It really does feel different when I’m in the thick of the action instead of watching from a distance.” He breaks off with a wide yawn. “Geez, I’m beat.”</p><p>Bluejay turns to look at him then, gaze sharpening. “Wait, you aren’t still taking that insane course load, are you?”</p><p>“Well…” Redbird squirms. “Hey, it’s getting pretty late. Maybe we should head back now—”</p><p>“Oh my god, you <em>are</em>. Seriously? How are you not dead? Is it too late to drop, like, <em>half </em>of those classes?” Bluejay rolls onto his side, propping his head up on one beefy arm and gazing down at Redbird with what looks like a genuinely worried expression. “There’s no way B knows you’re taking on so much. He’d be on you for that in a hot second.”</p><p>Snorting, Redbird rolls his eyes. “It’s not like he’s my dad—thank <em>god.” </em>He grimaces at the reminder of those horrifying moments when he’d worried that might actually be the case. “He can’t exactly tell me what to do with my academic life.”</p><p>“Baby Bird, he is literally the boss of you. If you don’t wanna get benched, drop a few classes. Otherwise, you’re going to fall asleep standing up and chop your damn hand off one of these days.” He laughs, deep and rich.</p><p>Redbird rolls his eyes. “I do <em>not </em>hold the paring knife wrong! That first time was an accident—it slipped right as you came over!”</p><p>“I know,” Bluejay says with a crooked grin. He shrugs. “Maybe I just liked being close to you, and getting a chance to hold your hand.”</p><p>Mouth dropping open in surprise, Redbird just stares at him. Wait, what?</p><p>Bluejay leans closer, catching his hand and tracing his palm with a big thumb. It’s amazing how much he can feel, even through the glove. The Bats have such awesome gear. “Look, what’s your hurry? Take your time, work a goddamn reasonable schedule between your shifts at the restaurant, schoolwork, and the Bat stuff. So it’ll take a few more years to graduate—who gives a shit?”</p><p>He bites his lip, uncertain and still half-distracted by the thought that every time Jason’s been an ass to him about his chopping techniques, it’s just been an excuse to stand close and hold his hand. Holy crap. “I don’t know…”</p><p>“Please?” Bluejay slides his fingers up to softly trace Redbird’s lips, practically hovering over him now.</p><p>
  <em>Holy shit. He’s really close. Does this mean…? Wait, ew! I know where those gloves have been!</em>
</p><p>“Ugh, Jay, don’t touch my mouth with your gross gloves! You were just using those to punch a guy into a dumpster!” Redbird twists away, making a face and resisting the urge to scrub at his lips with his own gross gloves.</p><p>Bluejay snorts but obediently moves his hand away. Redbird feels cold and bereft for a moment, and then Bluejay’s warm, bare hand is cupping his face. “This better, Baby Bird?”</p><p>“Heck yeah it is,” Redbird mutters, then flushes. “Did I say that out loud?”</p><p>“Yep.” Bluejay grins down at him. “Look… Let me know if I’m reading this wrong, or moving too fast or whatever, but… Is it okay if I kiss you?” He sounds hesitant and hopeful, like he has no idea how damn appealing he is or how far gone on him Tim has been for an embarrassingly long time.</p><p>“God yes,” Redbird breathes. He doesn’t have time to feel awkward about his naked enthusiasm because before the words have even fully left his mouth, Bluejay slowly, carefully closes the space between them.</p><p>His large, warm hand caresses Redbird’s face as he presses their lips together, moving over him so softly—it’s such a gentle, tender kiss, nothing like what he would have imagined from the bombastic, larger than life Jason Todd.</p><p>It’s infinitely better.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><strong>Redbird, standing on a skyscraper in his brand new uniform and resisting the urge to do a happy dance:</strong> “Aw, screw it” *Does a happy dance*<br/><strong>Bluejay, right behind him:</strong> *Snickers* “Nice moves, Baby Bird”<br/><strong>Redbird, startled:</strong> *Almost falls off the building* “Meep!” <br/><strong>Bluejay, catching him and yanking him to safety:</strong> “Jesus Christ! Fuck, sorry about that. Uh, can we get a do over? Like, from the first moment we met? I feel like I’ve been screwing this up basically continuously since then” <br/><strong>Redbird:</strong> “Sure?”<br/><strong>Bluejay:</strong> “Great. Ahem” *Leans in suavely, extends red rose and smiles charmingly* “Wanna go back to my place and fuck?”<br/><strong>Redbird:</strong> “...” <br/><strong>Bluejay, grin falling off his face as he panics:</strong> “Shit, was that too forward? Fuck, I’m sorry—”<br/><strong>Redbird:</strong> “That wasn’t a no, you just took me by surprise” *Kisses a surprised Blujay, who immediately kisses back* “So, your place?”</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim brushes a kiss in the air beside his mom’s smooth, pale cheek. “It’s been good seeing you guys tonight.”</p><p>She flashes him a smile as she holds her arms out for his dad to assist her into her tailored, elegant coat. “Oh, darling, it’s been simply delightful to have dinner with you. And <em>here, </em>without a six-month reservation—! You know, I went to school with Bruce Wayne. I like to think of him as a friend, but even that never got me a table without at least six weeks’ advance notice.” She glances the other way to say something to his father, so she misses the smirk Tim can’t quite suppress.</p><p>At least he manages not to snort.</p><p>He blinks, considering what he knows about his mom’s intervention to get him the job here. Does it really matter what her motivations were? Either way, he’s got what he wants. Maybe Janet just recognized his determination, and decided to find a way to make his goals work <em>with</em> her ambitions instead of continuing to butt heads with him.</p><p>“Oh, darling, you <em>can </em>get us in again on the thirtieth, can’t you? We have those investors coming over from the west coast, and it would be such a good opportunity for you to see how these things are handled…”</p><p>Tim smiles, beginning to walk his parents toward the door. A flicker of movement is all he sees as plates loaded with exquisitely prepared and plated food appear on the tables around him, followed by full glasses of richly colored wine.</p><p>
  <em>Cass is terrifying, even when she’s filling in on server duty. </em>
</p><p>Of course, she’s even <em>more </em>terrifying on prep duty with a knife in both hands. Scary levels of competence aside, she’s an awesome teacher and Tim’s been enjoying his lessons ever since he moved up from dishwasher.</p><p>Dick winks at him as he passes the host station. He’s clearly happy to see that Tim’s dinner with his parents went well.</p><p>“Of course, Mom. That won’t be a problem at all.” Now that he’s officially a chef-in-training, he has a few extra perks at the Table, one of which is his own dedicated table set aside at all times for him to use or leave empty at will.</p><p>Apparently, the fact that the restaurant is more of a front for a vigilante group than an actual money-making enterprise—although it <em>is </em>wildly profitable—means that they like to keep a handful of tables available, just in case someone needs one at the last minute. Granted, it’s mostly meant for meeting up with informants and so on, but whatever. Tim makes it work.</p><p>His mom pauses just outside the elegant doors. “Timothy, I must say, you seem to be… well, happy. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you smile as much as you have tonight.”</p><p>Clearly she has no idea he was grinning because Jason kept poking his head out of the kitchen to make ridiculous faces and wink outrageously. And of course, she has no idea Tim’s in a good mood because he covered the morning baking for Steph in exchange for her taking his dinner shift tomorrow. A chance to have a real date with Jason is definitely a reason to smile.</p><p>The last couple of weeks since their rooftop kiss have been awesome—they’ve been bringing each other coffee before class, meeting up on patrol to race across the rooftops together, and trying to line up their shifts at the restaurant so they can snag a few minutes together in the break room.</p><p>Of course, it’ll all be even better once they finally manage to go on an actual date. They may have agreed to be boyfriends, but it doesn’t really feel official somehow without the whole dating thing.</p><p>“I am,” he says, surprised that she noticed his mood. Then again, his parents are both highly intelligent, observant people. He just hasn’t really had much opportunity to interact with them as—well, as equals. During dinner, they’d calmly discussed the possibility of him inheriting the company one day and acting as a silent partner, maintaining overall control as the majority shareholder while stepping back from day to day operations so he can live his life. Both his parents were satisfied that with his business degree and ongoing advice from them, he’ll be able to keep an eye on the company without having to actually work for it.</p><p>It’s a tremendous improvement on when they wanted to control him as though he was nothing more than a pawn on the gameboard of their own lives. He realizes with a slight shock that both of them are treating him like an adult now.</p><p>His mom smirks playfully. “And you must simply <em>never </em>even mention a food truck in my hearing again—you’ll give me palpitations!”</p><p>Tim laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, Mom. Like I said, I’m happy right where I am.”</p><p>“Good to hear that, son,” his dad says warmly, then breaks into a hopeful grin. “Say, there’s a Knights game coming up next week, and we’re actually going to be in town for it. Do you think you’d like to…?”</p><p>“Sure, no problem. Meet you for lunch first?”</p><p>“Sounds great, sport!”</p><p>He walks them to their car as the valet steps aside, then watches the taillights of their stylish car disappear into the fog. A hand on his waist startles him for a moment, but he relaxes immediately when he hears Jason’s warm voice in his ear. “Hey there, sweetheart. Looked like you guys had a pretty good time.”</p><p>Tim nods, leaning back against his boyfriend’s broad chest. “Yeah.” He shakes his head, still feeling slightly stunned. “I’m not sure exactly why, but they’re not fighting me on working for the company at all anymore.”</p><p>“Shit, that’s great!” Jason pulls back and spins him in his arms so he can look him in the eye, grinning. “Wait, did you tell them you reduced your course load so it’ll take you the full four years to graduate instead of two?”</p><p>“Well… Actually, they never knew I planned to do it in two?” Tim gives Jason half a smile and shrugs. “We didn’t talk about it before. As far as I know, they had no idea I overloaded my schedule in the first place.”</p><p>He’s seriously grateful Jason convinced him to drop a few classes—with help from Steph, Dick, and even <em>Alfred, </em>who the others brought in when Tim proved obstinate. He’d been unable to resist their combined efforts, especially the wily old man who raised Bruce Wayne, taught him to cook, and inspired his choice of civilian career. Technically, Bruce isn’t even the official head chef at The Butler’s Table—Alfred rules the kitchen.</p><p>Even with all their efforts to help him cut back, Tim’s life is <em>still </em>busy as heck. If he’d continued trying to do everything at once, it would probably have become impossible to maintain.</p><p>Anyway, it’s just a few more years before he’ll graduate and be free to sleep his days away when he isn’t on shift, like the rest of the Bats. Meanwhile, he’s enjoying himself, learning constantly, and making a difference on the streets of Gotham, just the way he always wanted.</p><p>Jason’s deep voice pulls him from his thoughts. “Hey, you wanna go make out in the walk-in?”</p><p>“Jason, it’s freezing in there!” Tim can’t help but blush at the suggestion even as he starts to laugh at his ridiculous boyfriend. At least he knows Jason’s talking about the old walk-in, emptied out and ready to be replaced by a more efficient model in the morning. Otherwise, the suggestion would be horribly unsanitary.</p><p>Jason slips his arms around Tim’s waist and pulls him close to nibble gently at his throat, making him gasp softly. “Oh, I’ll keep you warm.” He snickers, the dork.</p><p>“Oh my god, <em>seriously? </em>Right in front of the restaurant? Break it up, you two!” Dick mock-glares at them as they separate at the sound of his voice and then file past him into the foyer, blushing. “Get back to work!”</p><p>“Meet you in the walk-in?” Jason mouths at Tim over Dick’s shoulder. Tim nods.</p><p>Jason’s <em>really </em>good at keeping him warm.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“This is not how I planned our first official date,” Tim mutters as he expertly flings another platter at one of the aliens currently invading the kitchen. The small, orange, slug-like creature immediately latches onto the smooth surface, sucking contentedly at the metal serving dish while its horde of companions continue pouring into the restaurant. “At least they seem to like metal?”</p><p>Jason snorts and rolls his eyes, then tosses several stainless steel spatulas at more of the aliens, distracting them and halting their progress. “Yeah, great. So we only hafta worry about them eating all our infrastructure and vehicles and not, like, chowin’ down on human flesh.” He pauses briefly, apparently considering the implications of what he just said. “You know what, you’re right, this could be so much fuckin’ worse.”</p><p>Another wave of lurid alien slug-things oozes in through the kitchen doors. For slimy creatures that have no visible means of propulsion, these guys move fast. They’ve already eaten holes in the stainless steel doors of the new walk-in, and a few of them even latched onto the ovens and grill for a while before Jason managed to pry them off with the heavy-duty tongs. Which the slug-aliens then turned around and consumed. Too bad there aren’t any wooden implements in the kitchen. It would be nice to have something to fight them off with that didn’t risk being consumed within seconds.</p><p>Tim <em>really </em>doesn’t want to know what it looks like in the dining room right now. All those metal utensils, plus the jewelry, buttons, and belt buckles the diners are probably wearing—yeah, he doesn’t envy Dick and Cass right now. Or Steph, out there in the city somewhere fighting them off as Spoiler. He can’t even be resentful that she isn’t here, covering his shift like she promised. After all, it’s not <em>her </em>fault the subway she takes to work is made of metal.</p><p>Somehow, he and Jason need to figure out how to counter these ravenous aliens so they can empty and close the restaurant, suit up, and go help the others. According to the latest updates on the comms, Batman has the tech needed to close the portal, but the Bats are stymied on how to gather up all the aliens and put them back on the correct side of the portal first.</p><p>“Okay, we’ve got to fight smarter, not harder. Force doesn’t seem to have any effect on these little guys.” Tim watches in fascinated horror as Jason nonchalantly tosses half a dozen paring knives at the approaching aliens. Their soft, malleable bodies squash and fold around the knives, engulfing them, presumably to consume the apparently delicious, delicious metal therein. He blinks at the bizarre sight, then shakes it off.</p><p>“No kidding,” Jason says faintly, watching the carnage. “We’ve gotta figure something out before these guys eat their way through to the Bunker.”</p><p>Tim shudders. Yeah, that would be bad. There’s no telling what kind of damage the aliens could do to all the delicate equipment down there. The Bat Bunker is one of the Bats’ most essential bases, second in importance only to the Bat Cave. They can’t let any of these little guys slide past.</p><p>He raises a mop and spins it like a staff, then uses it to deflect several approaching aliens toward the long stainless steel counters. The Butler’s Table can afford to replace equipment and furnishings a lot easier than the Bats can handle the full-scale invasion and destruction of one of their subterranean centers of operation.</p><p>There’s a brief lull in the onslaught and Tim falls back next to Jason to catch his breath. “So, facts—” He dodges smoothly as Jason throws another couple of platters like frisbees, taking out a few more attackers. “These aliens spilled out of a portal which opened up in central Gotham approximately half an hour ago, and immediately focused their attention on the nearest sources of metal—cars, mostly, and some parking meters, before spreading out seeking additional sources of metal to ingest.”</p><p>“Also that one hideous bronze sculpture of Bruce in the park on Seventh,” Jason contributes. “Oracle said they hit that thing hard and fast. Good riddance—B’s face on that damn statue always looked like it was melting.” He doesn’t pause, continuing to toss platters as he speaks. They seem fairly effective, for now, but he’s going to run out pretty soon at this rate.</p><p>“That’s right.” Tim watches some of the aliens, which seem to have just discovered the copper pots. They’re latching onto them ravenously, almost frantically, paying no attention to the stainless steel once they notice the copper. He hasn’t seen them react like that before, not even when they found Barbara’s personal brass teapot and went to town on it. “They appear to have a marked preference for certain metals. Bronze, brass—both of those are copper alloys. Hey, I think the aliens are going for the copper! It might be their prefered food.”</p><p>“Well, I guess that’s something.” Jason snickers and switches to throwing Bruce’s prized copper utensils that no one else is ever allowed to use. “Damn, this is weirdly satisfying.”</p><p>Tim snorts a laugh, then frowns, trying to think faster. “Jay, try throwing one of those things off to one side.” It’s just a hunch, but if the aliens <em>really </em>like copper, then maybe…</p><p>Jason tosses a couple of ladles a few feet to the side, and they both watch as a dozen aliens ooze after them. “Apparently they like this stuff enough to follow it.”</p><p>“Awesome! That means we might be able to use it to lure them all back into their portal so B can use his multiverse tech to close it, with them back on their own side.”</p><p>“Sweet. But where are we gonna get enough copper to round ‘em all up?”</p><p>The aliens don’t seem particularly aggressive, just hungry. Tim raises a brow as a ridiculous plan begins to form in his mind. “Jay,” he says, one corner of his lips tilting up in a crooked smile, “you know that gigantic penny in the Bat Cave? Think it’s solid copper?”</p><p>Jason’s eyes widen as he stares at Tim in an expression of awed wonder. “Oh, Baby Bird.” He blinks, then grins. “Fuck, that’s a damn good idea. You magnificent, <em>crazy</em> little bastard. Let’s do this.”</p><p>Bruce’s copper utensils are all sacrificed in the effort, but they manage to occupy the encroaching aliens long enough for Tim to call the others on the comms and let them know they can use copper-based alloys to hold off and start to corral the invasion. “B, I’ve got a plan,” Tim says into the comm. “We could use someone to cover in here while we go get what we need to pull it off.”</p><p>Batman is silent for a long moment, and Tim resists the urge to squirm. What was he thinking? He’s still the newest team member, after all. There’s no way Batman is actually going to go along with any plan of his without even hearing it—</p><p>“Black Bat, fall back and protect the Bunker. Nightwing, continue to protect the civilians. Everyone else, containment. Bluejay and Redbird, go.”</p><p>Tim meets Jason’s eyes and he can’t help but laugh in delight at the happy, proud smile his boyfriend is wearing.</p><p>“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s suit up and go!” Bluejay winks at him as he spins and presses the complicated pattern on the custom oven dial on the wall behind them, causing the entire oven structure to rotate and reveal the passageway down to the Bunker.</p><p>They hurry through the process of suiting up, then use one of the Batmobiles to get to the main Bat Cave as fast as possible. The next part is a little more awkward, but between the two of them and a couple of handy pieces of tech they find lying around—thank goodness for Batman and his vast resources—they manage. It’s fortunate Batman got interested in the way Green Lantern rings work at some point, and developed tech that at least somewhat duplicates their abilities.</p><p><em>This is the best thing that ever happened, </em>Redbird thinks, grinning wildly as he runs as fast as he can, trying to stay balanced on top of the giant penny as it rolls ponderously across the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge. Its course is barely stable, and that’s with both him and Jason using Batman’s experimental tech to control its path.</p><p>Bluejay is cursing in his ear, following close behind in the Batmobile. His attention split between driving and using the toggles on the control panel gripping in his right hand to help guide the penny’s route. “Why the <em>fuck </em>did we think this was a good idea, again?”</p><p>“This is the <em>best </em>idea!” Redbird yells, laughing despite being nearly breathless from exertion. He can’t quite believe Bluejay went along with this plan in the first place, let alone agreed to <em>Redbird </em>being the one to don the matching sensors that go with the tech in Bluejay’s hands, allowing him to focus the device on Redbird and, through him, the penny.</p><p>“What the <em>hell </em>is that?” Batman’s voice on the comms causes Redbird’s laughter and Bluejay’s cursing to die away into guilty silence. Batman continues in a low, awful voice. <em>“Why </em>does it look like Redbird, the newest, most inexperienced member of my team, is <em>balancing on a giant penny </em>as it rolls down the expressway through Burnley at breakneck speed?”</p><p>Bluejay clears his throat. “Heh. Uh, funny story about that, B…”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Nightwing says faintly over the comms. “Wait, all the aliens are moving. They’re—it looks like they’re leaving!”</p><p>“Over here, too!” Spoiler sounds like she’s cackling. “Holy shit, I can’t get good footage of this craziness because I’m laughing too hard. O?”</p><p>“On it,” Oracle says, clearly barely holding back laughter herself. “I have a dozen vantage points of Redbird riding a ridiculously oversized penny through downtown Gotham, with literally thousands of slugiens converging on his position.”</p><p>“Thousands of <em>what?” </em>Robin sounds appalled.</p><p>“Slugiens!” Spoiler says brightly. “Slug-aliens. It just makes sense.”</p><p>“Appalling. Father, if Redbird plummets to his untimely death as a result of his own incurable idiocy, may I have his position at the, ah, family business?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Redbird snickers. He can’t help it. This whole thing is ridiculous. As he rides the huge penny right at the portal, waves of slugiens following obediently behind, he can’t hold back a wave of joyous laughter.</p><p>“You okay up there, Baby Bird?” Jason sounds more amused than worried. “By the way, I think it’s about time for you to bail.”</p><p>“I’m on it.” Redbird waits another moment, making absolutely sure the penny is on the right trajectory, then leaps off, releasing his grapnel in midair and then swinging down to land lightly beside the Batmobile as it comes to a halt. Bluejay climbs out and they both watch as the penny rolls right through the portal, rapidly followed by every last one of the bizarre little aliens.</p><p>A moment later, Batman swoops down from above, holds out a blinking device, and presses a few buttons. The portal flickers, then collapses. Robin alights nearby to glare at the former portal for a moment before huffing and turning away with his arms crossed.</p><p>“Well, that was something,” Redbird says, heart still racing with adrenaline from his wild ride.</p><p>“Yeah it was,” Bluejay growls, slinging an arm around his waist and pulling him close. “Damn, that was hot…”</p><p>Batman clears his throat loudly from nearby. Grumbling, Bluejay lets go of Redbird. “Tonight was supposed to be our first real date,” he complains. “Why do you hafta kill the romance?”</p><p>Robin frowns. “Bluejay, you unutterable cad, do not tell me that you have been despoiling Redbird for weeks without even taking the poor fool on a single pathetic <em>date.” </em></p><p>Redbird blinks, trying to parse what Robin just said. In Damian-speak, it <em>almost </em>sounds like he’s offended on Tim’s behalf. Almost. “Robin,” he says, hesitantly, “are you <em>worried </em>about me?”</p><p>Sniffing dismissively, Robin turns away, chin high. “You are both idiots. Somehow, despite my abysmally low expectations, you <em>still</em> manage to continually disappoint me.”</p><p>That’s more like it. Shaking his head, Redbird turns back to where Batman is standing, apparently just brooding in their general direction. He winces. “Uh, B? Ah, sorry about the penny—I probably should have warned you I was going to send it to an alternate dimension to be eaten by tiny slug-aliens—” </p><p>Batman stalks right up to him, his cape flowing like a shadow behind him. Bluejay edges forward, trying to nudge Redbird protectively behind himself. “B, it was my fault. I okayed the plan and helped him find the right equipment—”</p><p>Both of them fall silent, stunned, as Batman sweeps them into his arms. “Don’t do something that dangerous again.” He presses a kiss to Bluejay’s forehead. “You were both at risk the entire time you were using those experimental devices to guide the trajectory of that coin, and you each ended up far too close to the portal for my peace of mind. Don’t you understand? You’re too important to risk. We can always find another way.”</p><p>Turning to Redbird, Batman sighs and then ruffles his hair affectionately. “And <em>you. </em>How do you think I would feel if I had to face your mother after letting something happen to you on my watch?”</p><p>Redbird’s eyes sting and he hears Bluejay sniff. “I—didn’t really think of that. Uh, maybe next time I’ll rethink the whole riding a gigantic penny into the gaping maw of an unknown but probably deadly alternate dimension.” He considers what he just said, then raises a brow. “Then again, that particular combination of events doesn’t seem super likely to ever happen again. For one thing, that was our only giant penny.”</p><p>“With the shit we see, you’d be surprised,” Bluejay mutters.</p><p>Batman sighs. “You’re not expendable, any of you. Just… Try to keep that in mind.” He stares at them for a moment long in silence, then strides over to the Batmobile. Robin jumps in after him, and then the car peels away as Bluejay and Redbird stare after them in incredulous disbelief.</p><p>“Did Batman just steal our ride?” Redbird isn’t sure how he feels about this.</p><p>“Yeah, B’s kinda an asshole like that.” Bluejay shrugs and then stretches, chuckling. “Damn, this <em>seriously </em>wasn’t the date I had planned.”</p><p>Redbird smiles, slipping his hand into his partner’s. “I had a good time, anyway.” He rises up on his toes to press a kiss to the taller man’s smiling mouth.</p><p>Bluejay’s arms slip around his waist and he kisses him back, warm and strong and tender.</p><p>Around them, sirens wail while tattered signs and street lamps collapse, their metal components mostly consumed during the random alien incursion. In the distance, Redbird can hear something he’s pretty sure is Nightwing snickering at them and taking pictures. He can’t hear Black Bat, of course, but he’s almost positive she’s over there, too. For all he knows, Oracle and Spoiler are still watching from somewhere as well.</p><p>Even though this is nothing like the way he planned tonight to go, he still feels incredible. In this moment, Tim’s whole world feels right.</p><p>It’s a crazy life, but it’s <em>exactly </em>what he wanted. Maybe even better.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><strong>Jason, frowning:</strong> “Hey Baby Bird, how long have we been dating again?”<br/><strong>Tim, confused:</strong> “Wait, we’re dating?”<br/><strong>Jason, distressed:</strong> “Wtf Tim we’ve been together for like three weeks. Wait, you KNEW that right?”<br/><strong>Tim, shrugging:</strong> “Oh I couldn’t tell since we never actually went on a date”<br/><strong>Jason, clubbing a dozen attacking aliens with Bruce’s treasured golden spatula:</strong> *Snickers when he gets alien ooze all over the spatula, looks forward to Bruce’s horrified reaction later* “I consider this a date, Baby Bird. I mean, we’re together, doin’ something we love, right?”<br/><strong>Tim, brightening:</strong> “Oh hey, in that case we’ve been on like, fifty dates already!” <br/><strong>Damian, disgruntled and annoyed:</strong> “MUST you continue this travesty whilst I and the others are all in the room as well?”<br/><strong>Steph, snickering:</strong> “I don’t mind! I think it’s both romantic and hilarious!” <br/><strong>Jason, rolling his eyes:</strong> “Maybe you’re right though, Baby Bird. We should go on the other kind of date sometime. I’m kinda tired of all the goddamn chaperones on these ones”<br/><strong>Bruce, popping up out of nowhere:</strong> *Briefly glares at slime-covered golden spatula Jason is still wielding, then eyes Jason* “I am absolutely still going to chaperone you on each of those dates as well”<br/><strong>Jason, foiled:</strong> “Dammit!” <br/><strong>Tim, shrugging:</strong> “Welp, at least we’ll always have our highly unromantic patrol dates surrounded by your entire family” *Desultorily tosses a penny at an alien, is stunned by alien’s frantic reaction to the metal* “Oh hey I just got the best idea!” <br/>A short time later…<br/><strong>Jason and Tim, making out on top of the giant penny as it rolls off into the sunset:</strong> “YOLO, suckers!”<br/>Exit Tim and Jason, pursued by a Bruce<br/>*<br/>Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and extra thanks to the awesome mods over at Jaytim Week for all their hard work! Also, thanks to the <a href="https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn">Capes &amp; Coffee Tim Drake discord server</a> for the sprints and betas while I was writing this.</p><p>I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!</p>
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